


Goodbye, Granger

by sweetestsorrows (katschako)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, Mentions of Violence, Minor Character Death, Order Member Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Secret Relationship, Smut, Spy Draco Malfoy, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katschako/pseuds/sweetestsorrows
Summary: Though he loved her for years, Draco always knew Hermione wasn't truly his, not for forever. So he did his best to aid her efforts in the endless war, to ensure her success against the Dark Lord, and to create a future wizarding society where she could thrive. He simply never expected that he would be granted the opportunity to share a happy ending with her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 64
Kudos: 311
Collections: The Dramione Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crystymre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystymre/gifts).



> For my lovely friend, [Crysty](https://twitter.com/crystymre), who started my obsession with this ship to begin with. 💕
> 
> A few things to take note of: (1) my only beta was Grammarly, so I apologize for any remaining mistakes, (2) I'm much more immersed in the Dramione fandom than in the canon Harry Potter fandom - if there are parts of this story that don't make sense in the larger universe that's why, and (3) the 'Minor Character Death' tag is in reference to characters who die in the course of the books.

Draco paced back and forth, waiting for her to arrive and checking his pocket watch again.

Six minutes had passed since the agreed-upon meeting time. Granted, he’d arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, the anxiety and anticipation nearly driving him mad.

Unfortunately, waiting for her here was _much_ worse.

It wasn’t the first time she was late or even the first time she’d been prevented from coming at all, but something about this time made the bile rise in his throat. In nine more minutes, he would leave as was their protocol. He tried and failed to swallow back the panic that threatened to suffocate him as time slowed in her absence, his fingers tapping nervously against his trousers.

The winds of change were furiously whipping around them.

They were so close to their goal, after years and years of futile attempts.

He knew it, as did she. So maybe that was that. He had served his purpose and was no longer of any use to her or the Order. There would be no final meeting, no farewell. After all, he was the one who asked to meet. He hadn’t waited for or expected a confirmation. That wasn’t their way. As long as they could show up, they did. So where was she?

Sinking into a worn chair in the corner of the small living room, Draco closed his eyes wearily. Even though she might not show up, he would still wait. There was never any other option when it came to her. For all these years, she came first.

He would wait.

Finally allowing himself a moment of respite, exhaustion sunk into his bones, coursing through his bloodstream. The war waged had carried on for so long, longer than any of them initially expected and Draco was spent.

He just wanted it to be over.

He wanted happiness, with her.

He wanted to feel at peace, for once in his life.

  
He laughed mirthlessly at his overly optimistic expectations. It was only due to her influence that he would even entertain such thoughts. Nevertheless, at least one of those wishes would be granted, and soon. As for the rest…

Well, he would accept whatever hand the fates dealt him. It wasn’t as though he deserved rest or contentment. Several years of trying to do the right thing hardly made up for all the hurt and misery he had inflicted or played a role in up until that point.

His eyelids rested heavily, long lashes brushing against chiseled cheeks, as thoughts of Hermione flitted through his mind. He hardly remembered the time before her.

No… That was a lie.

He _could_ recall what life was like before she came crashing into his orbit, disturbing everything that he’d known and held to be true if he really tried.

Quiet, lonely days in the manor…

His broom and the books in the vast library were his primary companions.

Trips with Father…

A young boy desperate for approval and never quite reaching the impossibly high expectations set for him from before he was even born.

Worried glances from Mother… 

She cared for him, that much he knew, but she was hesitant to speak out against her husband, not until it was nearly too late.

Draco shuddered at the memories of his childhood, wondering how he ever imagined that his family legacy was one he wanted to uphold. He had wrapped the values of superiority, hatred, and fear so tightly around him, wearing them like a fine garment befitting of royalty. In the process, he nearly missed the opportunity to experience the best thing that ever happened to him.

Even so, he mucked it up so many times; it was still a shock that she gave him a chance at all.

From the moment he saw her, that head of wild curls and eyes filled with eagerness and wonderment, all of his defenses raised. At first, it was because he found her pretty, and what eleven-year-old boy wanted to admit that? Once he learned of her heritage, he immediately and violently shuttered his heart and his mind to her. It was evident in the cruel, abhorrent words he spoke to her, and about her, words which could never be unsaid.

All the times he made it so painfully clear that she was beneath him, to hide his insecurities at being bested by a muggle-born, were like daggers in his chest any time they came to mind, unbidden and unwanted.

He was so mired in the desire to please his father that he refused to appreciate anything about her. The qualities that he would have admired in other girls, pureblooded girls, only made him loathe her more. It only made matters worse in his mind at the time that she never bent or broke upon hearing his insults and snide remarks. Instead, she fought back with fierce indignation, always outwitting him. It only served to feed his fury and hatred.

The tension that had built between them for the first five years in their magical education finally broke in the middle of their sixth year, like the vicious eruption of a volcano that had previously lay dormant. While he refused to admit it, aloud or to himself, he knew on some subconscious level that he was attracted to her. Her clever mind, her unbreakable spirit, and her pleasing features were a triple threat, dooming him from the start.

Looking back, Draco could see the evident machinations of his godfather and the headmaster in how he and she came to be; however, at the time he was too entangled in the impossible task that he hardly had the mental capacity to notice any underhandedness. It was honestly impressive to consider in retrospect that Dumbledore even had time to consider Draco’s plight that year, as caught up as he was in his many convoluted schemes.

Regardless, when Slughorn assigned them as partners for a Potions project midway through the year, Draco nearly lost it. The vitriol he spat at their professor, at her, and at anyone who would listen that day was cause for shame even now, despite his repeated pleas for forgiveness and her hushed words of absolution in their time together since.

How he denied his obsession with her for so long, Draco could never really say. He posited that it was a defense mechanism and the result of years of harsh conditioning at the hand of his father. When he shared his musings with her, she brushed the fringe from his face, combing her fingers through his silver blond strands and planting a kiss on his forehead. 

_Of course, it was,_ she agreed. How could he behave differently when he had never known there was any other option to consider? She was and always had been far too understanding and forgiving of him. There was little he could do other than thank all the deities in their cursed universe for her kind nature and her giving heart.

What happened between them in the process of completing that assignment was inevitable. 

They were fated to be.

He knew that now.

If only he hadn’t fought it for so long, how might have things been different?

His world had revolved around the Golden Trio since shortly after they all stepped foot into the sacred grounds of Hogwarts, so really, it shouldn’t and wasn’t surprising that he finally succumbed to his desires as they related to her.

First, after their professor’s proclamation, came the ~~temper tantrum~~ tirade. It involved swallowing the words, _“My father will hear about this!”_ because really, he was a man now. That meant he could solve his problems all on his own. Besides, his father was imprisoned, fallen from grace, and in the end, had Lucius ever really cared about his son at all?

His anger fell on deaf ears, as Slughorn, Snape, and, to no surprise, Dumbledore, refused to budge on the matter.

What followed was a petulant sort of resignation and an accompanying cold stonewall, the kind that only spoiled children always used to getting their way could enact so effectively. He was unwilling to speak with her, to cooperate, and it was only under the threat of being suspended that he capitulated.

A suspension meant being sent back to the manor where the madman resided.

Regardless of his proclaimed loyalty to the cause and the Dark Lord himself, which was proven by the hideous mark that now marred the pale skin of his arm, Draco was nothing if not self-preserving. As such, he readily acknowledged and accepted that he would not survive any more time in the company of his master, at least not without completing his mission.

The man wanted him dead, that much was clear. Draco didn’t know if it was born of callousness and indifference or a cruel, twisted punishment for the failures of his father, but he was never intended to succeed at his task. Without the opportunity to even enact his desperate plans, there would be little pretense under which the Dark Lord would even deign to keep him alive.

Still, his unwillingness to return home hardly meant he wanted to work with her. He sat beside her in the library, sulking and ill-tempered, muttering snide remarks whenever her research and plan for the project was anything less than absolutely perfect. He was better than her at potions, and they both knew it. If he chose to engage, to answer her questions, they probably would finish sooner.

There was little chance that would happen. Draco was not keen to concede even a thimble more of his pride.

His younger self had truly been a complete and utter imbecile.

He knew now that he was the best version of himself when he was with her and that Hermione, with all her brilliance and seemingly unending knowledge, complimented him perfectly.

It was rather unfortunate that it took him so long to figure it out.

Surprisingly, after an initial bout of shock and outrage when the partnership had been assigned, Hermione had accepted her fate. Draco could hardly begin to imagine why she hadn’t fought harder, or what possessed her to agree to work with her childhood bully. Though after knowing her for all this time, the answer was quite clear. She knew he was struggling, suffering, and in the unending well of generosity and compassion she bestowed, she elected to not further burden him with an unwilling partner.

She sat by him day after day among the rows of books, silently bearing his disparaging comments. Ever the overachiever, she arranged for time outside of their scheduled class time to work on the potion they’d been assigned.

Even when he sullenly refused to meet with her to brew, he knew she was diligent in making the progress needed to pass the assignment. She was always too good for him, even when he was too much of an idiot to acknowledge it.

Draco remembered the moment things changed perfectly.

After another failed attempt at repairing the cabinet, he’d sought her out. He was boiling with fury, at himself, at his father, at their supposed leader. The anger also offered cover for the wrenching fear he felt. Regardless, he needed a target at which to direct the maelstrom of emotions that coursed through him, lest it eat him alive.

He found her settled on one of the benches in the otherwise deserted Potions classroom, reading as she watched the cauldron. He was looking for a fight, and a fight he got, though it took several attempts before she succumbed to his baiting.

What finally broke her was being called a swot, which was a bit funny in retrospect, as the word had become somewhat of a word of endearment in the years that had passed.

The magic that crackled around her at the insult might have warned off a smarter man, but Draco was channeling all his intelligence and energy into the hopeless, indomitable task and hardly had any extra brain cells to dedicate to self-preservation at that moment.

She called him pigheaded, incorrigible, and pretentious. She was resplendent in her rage, a true force to be reckoned with, and at some point in their argument, his gaze fell to her mouth. A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind that her lips were quite kissable.

How had he not noticed that before?

Ever impulsive, and never one to deny himself the things he wanted, Draco pulled her to him, crushing his mouth to hers in a searing kiss. It was harsh and demanding and he told himself that he only did it to shut her up and to quell his curiosity.

Hermione, after overcoming the initial jolt of shock, unsurprisingly pushed him away.

His eyes roved her petite frame, from the blush on her cheeks to her swollen, addictive lips, and her heaving chest. He was so caught up in his appraisal of her that he hardly noticed when she launched herself at him, knocking him back into the wall, and began her ferocious counterattack. Taking advantage of his surprise and loss of balance, she wrapped herself around his tall frame and devoured him.

In return, he wove one hand into her hair, that infuriating, gorgeous, fierce mass of curls. The other gripped her hip too tightly, as he held her body to his. The clashing of lips and teeth was a battle between them, a continuation of the quarrel that filled the space just moments before, and it was glorious.

Draco lost himself to the sensations of the kiss.

His mind finally cleared for the first time since he took the mark, maybe for the first time ever, a semblance of calm settling over him. There was no space to consider how his failure would certainly sign his and his mother’s death warrants, even though the task was designed for him to fail. Gone were prejudices ingrained in him from an early age, first with beatings and later with seldom offered approval.

Finally, for maybe the first time in his entire life, Draco felt true contentment.

Nothing was expected or demanded of him. He was just a boy kissing a girl.

In the tranquil quietude that came in the wake of their fight, Draco found the longing he repressed for so long breaking through the walls he carefully constructed.

She tasted of peppermint when her tongue flicked out to brush the seam of his lips.

She smelled of apples, the soft notes of her shampoo wafting around him as he further entangled his fingers into her riotous hair.

She sounded like the sweetest melody when she sighed breathily into his ear, his mouth tracing the contour of her neck.

She felt divine when she pressed more firmly into him, her desire evident.

Hermione gave herself to him fully at that moment, and all Draco saw was her.

Not the muggle-born he was raised to hate and ridicule, but the bright, lovely witch she was.

The pressure to succeed even as the ax hung above his neck disappeared, just for that moment. There were no opposing sides in a war that had been waged since long before they were born, and certainly no pain at knowing that his legacy was one of failure and disgrace.

He grew brave and intoxicated by the weightlessness he felt as the burden of his responsibilities was finally, briefly, lifted off his shoulders. Draco allowed his fingers to trace along her spine and grasp her bum. He swallowed the soft moan that escaped her lips as a groan rose through his chest when she shifted against his hardening erection.

That was when reality crashed over him, like the coldest bucket of water. He untangled himself from her and shoved her forcefully away, refusing to register the confusion and hurt in her eyes before fleeing the classroom as if there was a Dementor on his tail.


	2. Chapter 2

Fortunately, it happened on a Friday as it allowed Draco to redouble his initial efforts to avoid her throughout the entire weekend. He needed distance and clarity as he took a step back to seriously contemplate his life up until what was quickly turning into the most hellish and confusing of years.

Draco could not and would not, in good conscience, deny that he never ascribed to the hateful rhetoric that his father so easily espoused. There was an age in his life when the sun rose and set on his father’s every word. Yet, somewhere along the way, Draco had begun to lose his conviction.

Though his father was blind to it, so long as victory meant purebloods in powers, Draco could see the cracks in Voldemort’s logic and the way the man preyed upon the hate-filled ideology of a dwindling sample of the magic community.

The man was using them, and after years of haughty proclamations that purebloods and Malfoys were superior to all others, Lord Malfoy was far too subservient far too easily. The hypocrisy of it all made nearly Draco’s head explode.

Further, he never really had any choice in the matter, did he? His side was chosen for him, a child born in one war, and forcefully thrust, far too young, into another.

It was difficult, even after all this time, to pinpoint the exact moment when the foundation of values upon which his childhood had started to erode, but by the time he saw Hermione again the following week there was a growing inkling of certainty.

His father and his ancestors be damned.

He was drawn to her and always had been.

Telling her though, actually putting it into words, was another matter. So he did as Malfoys did best, as he had done ever since he learned it cost more to show emotion than to stuff it down. He kept away from her and avoided eye contact when interaction was absolutely necessary.

He pretended as though the magic that sparked between them when they kissed never actually happened, even though he could still feel the ghost of her lips against his when he closed his eyes. It worked, for a while.

Leave it to his fearless witch to be the one to confront the chasm between them and begin to build a bridge upon which they both could meet. 

A smile stretched thinly across his lips, any time he recalled that day. She cornered him, after Potions, under the pretense of discussing their project.

Sleep was coming to him in increments by that point, or else he might have seen right through her ploy. Hermione demanded an explanation from him, her brows furrowing, her mouth set in a firm line, and her hands set firmly on her hips. The height difference between them did nothing to curtail her commanding presence or the unshakeable insistence that her questions be answered. Like a coward and the slippery snake he was, his lips descended on hers once more, effectively distracting her from her goal.

Unlike the first kiss, this one was more tentative, hesitant, questioning.

He thought of little else other than her lips when his mind wasn’t preoccupied with the blasted mission. _Had she thought of his too?_

He wanted her, _Merlin,_ he wanted her so immensely it hurt. _Would she give herself to him?_

He was sorry, for all that he had done and said to her, for the ill he wished upon her. _Could she ever find it in her heart to forgive him?_

Hermione was still angry and hurt, that much he could tell, but she put up no resistance to his advances. Instead, she melted into his embrace, her body curling against his as tension seemed to seep from her with every press of his lips to hers.

She answered his questions later on, in one of the stolen moments when they lay tangled in the sheets with their bodies wrapped around one another.

Yes, she had thought of his lips on many a lonely night when he was doing his utmost to deny what happened between them. Yes, she would give herself to him wholly. Yes, of course, she would forgive him. He was a product of his upbringing and when given the opportunity he changed, abandoning all his beliefs and social ties for what was right.

She was brilliant. She was brave. She was beautiful.

And…from that moment onward...she was _his._

Their love bloomed in spite of their circumstances, even as the deadline for his impending failure drew nearer and her friends became more suspicious. It was nurtured by stolen kisses in the shadows of deserted classrooms, in the nooks and crannies of the hallways, before finally blossoming when they gave their bodies to one another. 

That night in the Room of Requirement, in a space that looked vastly different from the one that haunted his every waking moment, would be ingrained in his memory until the end of time. Whatever would come to pass, he would always have the echo of her lying beneath him as they joined in the most intimate of ways.

He loved her then, from almost near the start of their doomed relationship, though he never confessed it. How could he?

Despite the dreams he had of a shared future together, one with marriage and children and happiness, he never deluded himself into thinking it could happen.

She was his, but only for the moment.

Though Draco nearly told her a dozen times in their sixth year, there was always the threat of the task looming above him. How could he profess his love for her and promise his devotion to her, if he would be dead before the summer?

Of course, his clever witch knew something was going on, and as tenacious as she was, she finally convinced him to share the burden that weighed so heavily upon him. 

Hermione was gracious and understanding, more so than he deserved. She didn’t press for further rationale when he told her of the situation he was trapped in or the fact that he and his mother would have been tortured and killed if he had refused the ‘offer’ of joining the Dark Lord’s ranks. She barely flinched when he showed her the hideous mark, and he loved her all the more for it.

By that point, he was assuredly ashamed of his decisions, of his past, of who he was as a pureblood. All of the things he was raised to love about himself and his history only served to make him ill. He could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror without wanting to smash his own image. Though with her acceptance, the understanding she spoke and showed through her actions, it felt as though the cracks in his heart started to repair themselves, if ever so slightly.

When she encouraged him to confide in Dumbledore, he could hardly argue against her. Draco was ready to accept that she was the smarter of the pair, and her plans were always well thought through. Privately, he could admit to himself that he was so far gone for her that he would’ve done anything she asked of him.

It wasn’t easy, but he did it.

Yet even after that momentous, life-altering conversation that resulted in his induction as an informant for the Order, in exchange for protection for his mother, he couldn’t find it in him to say those three little words.

He wanted to, but too many barriers still stood in his way.

There was the matter of him never having expressed the sentiment, to anyone. Though he was sure of how he felt, it was rather difficult to twist his tongue in just the right way to verbalize it. He didn’t take the admission lightly. In his mind, it was an oath, a vow that would bind him to her for eternity. Draco would have little qualms in making that commitment, except he knew he would never actually be able to fulfill. 

For although Hermione had saved him in more ways than one and they were on the same side, she was still his solely for the moment.

The plan that Dumbledore and Snape developed in addressing his task wasn’t shared with Draco until after the deed was done, but despite his ‘success,’ he and Hermione would only ever exist in safehouses and the darkest hours of the night, so long as the Voldemort lived.

There was a chance he would be found out and tortured, or that she would be killed in the seemingly endless hunt for the Horcruxes. Even if they managed to make it to the end of the war, if the war ever ended, who was to say any person in authority would believe that Draco Malfoy fell in love with a muggle-born and devoted his soul to her cause?

So even now, seven years later, he had yet to tell the love of his life that he did in fact love her. Nevertheless, Draco found ways to show her the true depths of his affection. He was utterly devoted to Hermione, loyal to her above all others, especially after the untimely death of his mother three years prior.

He maintained a certain level of disregard for the safety of her comrades and was rather surly to Potter even on the best of days. Though the other members knew of an informant, only she and Potter were privy as to his identity, a safeguard to keep him safe. That didn’t make them friends.

However, for his witch, he would cross continents and mow down any opposition to ensure her wellbeing. It was for her that he’d survived the long years in the service of such a vile creature, for the promise of her future happiness, whether it included him or not.

Mercifully, though, it was all coming close to an end.

The Order had maintained a valiant spirit and fought relentlessly in the time that Hermione and the two idiots she called her best friends searched for the fragments of the Dark Lord’s soul. When he saw her the week before Draco shared information that might have been the final piece of a puzzle that stumped them for so many long years; he believed the remaining artifact was buried in the very room they once shared on many a night in their sixth year.

Despite an infuriating lack of transparency from the man intended to guide them, Hermione deduced long ago the different objects that the Horcruxes were likely contained in. She concluded that the final Horcrux to be destroyed was the snake. It was a stroke of genius and sheer luck that even clued her into the idea in the first place. After a killing curse struck Harry down in the heat of battle, only for him to return once more, Hermione conjectured that Voldemort broke a piece of his soul to be housed in his most faithful of companions.

The snake would not be killed until the last stand against the dark forces, which could not be waged until the elusive diadem was found. The remaining Horcruxes had been dealt with, one by one, but the whereabouts of the tiara continued to evade them.

Its location came to Draco one night in a dream, though it was more of a nightmare, as he was suddenly transported back to his sixth year. It gleamed on a bust far above his eye level, and whether it was fate or divination, Draco knew without a doubt that the long-sought for Horcrux had been in the most obvious of places all along.

Obtaining it would be rather difficult, but at least there was something to guide their actions other than endless, pointless assaults on Death Eater strongholds. Not that Hogwarts was any more accessible. Since Dumbledore’s death, the school had fallen into the hands of Voldemort, who no longer maintained any pretense that actual learning happened in the halls of the ancient castle. 

He hadn’t heard from Hermione since then, but only a week had passed and as the only remaining leader of the resistance with any intellect, it wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t had time to meet with him. When Draco witnessed Voldemort’s fury at the school being breached, he knew his premonition was a good one. 

That was that then. Their journey was finally coming to an end. He knew there was a storm brewing, and he needed to know of her plan, if there was any last bit of information he could provide, before chaos ensued. She had to be adequately prepared, lest these years of sacrifice be for nothing.

He also needed to tell her how he felt, but there wasn’t a single chance that would happen.

Any professions of love would be swallowed, any thoughts of endless devotion shuttered. 

This would be the end of them, as well. 

He would protect her during the final battle, that went without question. He owed her that much. Then he would surrender and be taken into custody, thrown into Azkaban for life, for the world that they had fought for was not one in which she would be his.

It didn’t matter that he had spent the last seven years dedicated to her cause, to the defeat of the darkest wizard seen in a lifetime. He would be hated by those who fought for Light, and a pariah among his former brethren. That was a burden he refused to saddle her with.

Draco looked down at his pocket watch once more, lips pursing in dismay as he noticed that she was 21 minutes late. His trip down memory lane had taken more of his time than he thought…

He shrugged his robes on, preparing to step out of the tiny safe house, their safe house, and disapparate back to the manor. Just as he reached for the handle, the door flew inward, heralding the arrival of his witch. She stumbled right into his arms, holding on to him like a lifeline. Draco clutched her close to him, burying his face into her curls and inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo before getting a hold of himself.

He couldn’t let his barriers down. He needed to stay focused.

Stiffening in her arms, he held her away from him, ensuring she was steady on her feet before taking a step back.

“Hello, Draco” she murmured in greeting.

His given name on her tongue was a sound he would never grow tired of. Her eyes shone with affection as he’d never known and Draco felt his chest clench painfully at the knowledge that his words and actions would soon extinguish that light.

“You’re late,” he drawled, assuming an unaffected and bored tone. His hands twitched nervously, so he held them behind his back. He could do this.

Hermione tensed immediately, sensing that something was wrong, but turned away from him and busied herself with removing her robes and setting it and her wand on the table.

“I know, darling, and I’m sorry. I’m glad I caught you, though. We’ll stage the final attack next Saturday, at Malfoy Manor. Are there any details you can provide on the wards that won’t give you away?”

He bit back a bark of laughter. It didn’t matter if Voldemort finally figured out that his best lieutenant was actually a spy, or that Draco would most certainly find himself on the receiving end of an Avada curse. All that mattered was she was victorious.

“I’ll disable the wards myself. Is that all?”

“You’re the one who asked to meet with me…”

He cursed inwardly. “Right. I suspected that you would move to the final stage of your plan, with the success at Hogwarts. Now that you’ve confirmed that, there’s nothing left to say other than good luck, and goodbye, Granger.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For maximum angst, I suggest listening to ['All I Ask'](https://open.spotify.com/track/1wMALZpuqAy7amQsFBWQ8m) by Adele, which was on repeat as I wrote the goodbye scene.

Draco managed one step towards the door before her hand tightened around his wrist.

“No.” Her hardened gaze was locked on him.

Though he could have wrenched himself free from her grasp, he had more dignity than that, and truthfully, he didn’t want to.

“No?” he repeated, brow arched.

“You’re not doing this.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, Granger.”

“Stop calling me that!” she demanded, pulling her towards him. It didn’t take much effort.

“Why wouldn’t I call you that? It’s your name.”

“No,” she murmured. “It’s Hermione, or swot, or love, or witch. Granger when you’re buried inside me, but never at any other time. Not since Hogwarts.”

She had him there. Draco exhaled heavily. Why had he thought this would be easy?

“Listen, Gra- Hermione. What lies ahead is filled with uncertainty. One or both of us may die, though if I have anything to say about it, it’ll be me before you. On the off chance, we survive, your future is bright and I refuse to be the stain on your otherwise stellar reputation.”

“So you’ll just walk away instead. Like I mean nothing…like _we_ mean nothing.”

Draco almost blurted out the words he so desperately wanted to say but bit his tongue.

“You know that’s not true,” he whispered instead, more to himself than to her.

“Do you want this to be over? Have you finally tired of me?” her voice wavered.

“I could never grow tired of you.” Draco met her gaze and saw her eyes brimmed with tears. He shouldn’t have, but he stepped to her and wiped a stray drop from her cheek.

“Then what is it?” she demanded. “After all this time we’re so close to the end, so close to finally being able to be together, and happy.”

“That was never in the cards for us, love.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you get the future you deserve, but it won’t be one with me in it. Not unless you plan to visit Azkaban on a monthly basis.”

She buried her face into his chest. “You’re not going to end up there, not if I can help it.”

Draco couldn’t stop the chuckle that rumbled through his chest. His witch was nothing if not stubborn. “You’ll be needed elsewhere, everywhere. Someone has to rebuild the wizarding world and there’s none better suited for it than you.”

“This can’t be it,” she cried softly.

“It is, though. It’s for the best.” The determination, the finality of it all, was evident in his tone. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Before he could comprehend what was happening, one of her hands threaded through the hair at the base of his neck to pull his face to hers.

“I’ll fight for you, Draco Malfoy, I lo–”

He cut her off with a kiss.

He shouldn’t have, as it would only make it harder in the end, but he knew what she was going to say. He wouldn’t allow the first time it slipped past her lips to be under these circumstances. He wasn’t sure he could ever walk away once it had been spoken.

Besides, he was selfish. He had attempted a clean break, and was unsuccessful.

Without parting his lips from hers, he lifted her into his arms, taking comfort in the familiarity of the way her legs wrapped easily around his waist. Carrying her to the single bedroom in the cottage, he sat back on the bed, the weight of her petite figure blanketing his larger frame. Her knees settled on either side of his thighs as she straddled him, hungrily demanding all of him.

Draco gave himself to her, for the final time, without any pretense or fight. He allowed her to take the lead, parting his lips for her when she sought entrance and groaning when her tongue brushed against his. She rolled her hips against him in a way that was both familiar and thrilling. He was hers to use, however she wanted, for the night.

If this memory of them was the last one he could ever offer her, he was determined to make it the most of it. Draco stifled a growl against the crook of her neck when her nimble fingers quickly undid his trousers and she wrapped her hand around his length. His lips traced a hot trail along her neck to a spot just below her ear that drove her mad with lust.

He teased the sensitive skin with teeth and tongue, sucking a mark that would show the world she had belonged to someone and relishing the sweet whimpers that spilled from her as her arousal grew. She leaned into his touch as her hand twisted and stroked his erection, pausing to swipe along the tip to gather the moisture there before once again resuming her ministrations.

When she stood to remove her clothes, he had to stop himself from reaching after her; instead, he busied his hands by removing his garments as well. He drank in the sight of her naked body, basking in the fact that she had been only his up until that point. She was exquisite, the hardened planes of her muscles doing nothing to detract from the narrow nip of her waist to the soft flare of her hips.

_Come what may,_ she would always be his first and he would forever be hers.

The thought that she was no longer his after that night savagely crossed his mind and stole his breath, but he pushed it away. The pain was enough to consume his entire being, but he wouldn’t dwell on it then. There would be enough time to wallow in it later.

Standing and towering over her, Draco pulled her back into his arms.

He memorized the way her lush lips felt pillowed against his, how her sweet tongue tasted when it darted out to lick against the seam of his mouth, the feeling her skin and curves pressed against his taut muscles, and the heady scent of her arousal.

For eternity, he would never want another, even though he would never have her again.

Turning her in his arms, he guided her gently to the edge of the bed, holding her and guiding her descent as she fell to the mattress. He pressed a trail of kisses from her ankle, to her calf, to her thigh, before stopping to dip his tongue between her slick folds.

He was addicted to the distinct flavor of her, which meant that a brief detour turned into his face buried against her mound, his tongue alternating assaulting her sensitive bud and diving into her tight core. After years of studying and worshipping her body, Draco knew how to bring her to pleasure in the most effective ways. His witch found her release with a sigh of his name, and only then did he continue his journey.

More kisses skimmed the smooth muscles of her stomach, along the ladder of her ribs, and to her chest. His tongue swirled around one pert bud, his fingers twisting around the other, but he refused to become distracted by her perfect breasts. He could easily spend hours teasing her nipples and caressing her there, but time was a precious commodity.

His lips trailed to her shoulder, then to her collarbones, and up her neck before finally meeting hers. Taking a moment to appreciate the lovely contours of her face, Draco tried to convey the love and admiration he felt through his gaze alone. She was truly magnificent and despite the trials and tribulations that plagued him since their sixth year, he wouldn’t have changed a single thing about their time together.

He twined his fingers through hers, holding her hand above her head. His other hand held the base of his cock as he sunk into her slowly, committing to memory the way her velvet walls stretched around him, sucking him in until he was fully sheathed inside her.

They fit so perfectly together as if they were made for one another, and there was no better feeling than being joined with Hermione so intimately.

Draco rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in shallow puffs, as she adjusted to accommodate his girth. He loved being buried inside her and he told her as much, with kisses to her nose and cheeks. When her fingers grabbed his jaw so she could meet her mouth to his, he surrendered to the sensation, pistoning his hips in a steady rhythm as he began to thrust into her divine cunt.

Sweat dripped from his brow, their scents mingled in the air around them, and the harmony of his groans and her sighs filled the room.

The fear of what came next, of having nothing left, was forgotten entirely as he made love to her. Draco pushed her towards ecstasy, encouraging her to shatter in his arms, to fall over the edge of bliss. He would catch her.

He shifted her leg wrapped at his hip to rest against his shoulder, eyes tracing the lines of her face as he drove more deeply into her. Carefully studying the way her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth fell in open in a silent scream of his name, he ground against her and offered the stimulation she needed. Her back bowed off the bed beautifully when she came, pushing her further into his embrace. Snaking an arm beneath her, he drew her to him, sitting back on his haunches and thrusting up and into her as she rode wave after wave of euphoria.

The way her molten core fluttered and pulsed around him caused him to lose all abandon as he chased his high, his face pressed to her breasts. Her sweaty, salty skin muted the whispered prayer of her name that escaped him when he emptied himself in her, giving himself to her wholly. She was the only one that mattered.

He would be hers until the end of time.

They collapsed to the bed together, limbs twined and hearts beating as one, but sleep didn’t claim him even after the soft buzz of her snores reached his ears. He held on to her for as long as he could justify it, his chest clenching painfully as she reached for him immediately when he slipped from her grasp.

Draco dressed silently, his back to her. Another glance and he would crawl back beside her, refusing to abandon the warmth that only she could stir in his cold heart.

He pulled a letter from his robe, setting it on the plain nightstand that stood by the bed. It explained everything. He was never planning to survive the war. He would shield her and protect her, even at the cost of his own life, and if by some blessing of the fates he managed to make it to the aftermath, he would surrender. It was what he always planned to do. He deserved to pay for his crimes.

Hermione would be angry at him in the beginning, but he hoped that she would understand, that she would remember him fondly. He wouldn’t apologize for prioritizing her and refusing to drag her down with him.

Just as he was about to step through the door leading back to the common area, she whimpered his name. It was a true test to his resolve, but in the end, he compromised. Walking back to her, he brought his face alongside hers, brushing a curl behind her ear so he could kiss her forehead one last time.

“Sleep well, Hermione. I love you.”

With that, he turned and left, the fractures in his heart deepening and growing with every step he took away from his witch. The feeling only worsened as he closed the door to the safe house behind him. In her absence, it felt as though his chest was caving in on itself, his mind completely blank, his legs moving on muscle memory alone.

Once he passed the barriers surrounding the house, he disapparated with a crack.

Draco couldn’t remember quite clearly the time that passed between his return to the manor and the Order’s final assault. It was all a painful blur, devoid of any light or happiness at the knowledge that he would never hold her in his arms again.

He caught glimpses of her when she and the resistance stormed his ancestral home, but he was too busy fending off Bellatrix to do much about it. His aunt, despite her inherent madness, was shrewd. She knew that he played a role in the dismantling of the wards, though he assumed she had suspected him for quite some time now.

It was Hermione’s wand that sent the lethal curse that ended her before Bellatrix could finish uttering the killing curse aimed at him. Although he wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless, the battle continued around them and demanded his full attention.

After the fall of his most ardent servant, Voldemort became unhinged and reckless. The man knew the end was near and he fought like a wild animal backed into a corner. It left enough of an opening for another courageous, rash Gryffindor to cut off the head of the snake.

Still, Voldemort was more than enough of a match for a hero who refused to duel aggressively, with purpose and malintent, and a paltry disarming charm was hardly enough to vanquish the Dark Lord.

When it came down to it, the act itself was far easier than Draco expected.

He stood in front of his former master, shielding a wounded Hermione with his own body, and with little thought for the state of his soul, Draco murmured the two words that would end it all. A flash of green light spouted from the tip of his wand, landing squarely in the center of Voldemort’s chest.

He did it for Hermione, that she might live in a world where others didn’t look down on her for her blood status, as he once did. He did it for his mother who died broken, a shell of her former self, at the hand of the man his father served so ardently. He did it with no qualms, remorse, or regret.

Maybe his struggle with killing Dumbledore wasn’t evidence of weakness at all, but a sign of his inherent morality. It was difficult to assassinate a man who, despite his many faults, fought for the good of all. Whereas when faced with the greatest evil seen in generations, Draco did not hesitate.

Nevertheless, Draco knew that his action would only be twisted to fit whatever harsh stance the Ministry and the resistance elected on taking when it came to the remaining followers of Voldemort. That was why he went easily, without any fuss, when the Death Eaters were rounded up.

He could hear Hermione screaming for him, fighting off those who tried to keep her from reaching him. Each step he took, chained and wandless, that led him further away from his love took every ounce of energy he could muster.

_Draco was tired._

Weary of fighting and of the war, drained from hiding his true feelings from the woman who was his entire world, exhausted by the name and legacy he was cursed with from birth.

_If only he could rest._

He was given a sham of a trial date to stand before the Wizengamot, a shell of its former self, and be allowed to defend and explain his actions. He wouldn’t fight whatever sentence they deemed appropriate, though.

_He just wanted to rest._


	4. Chapter 4

The days that followed were quiet, only marked by the coming and going of the guards and by the sun dancing across the sky that cast shadows through the tiny barred window of his cell. At least he had a window.

No correspondence came from her, but he wasn’t expecting it to begin with. While there was a small part of him that hoped maybe she wouldn’t give up on him, regardless of his attempts to push her away, the greater part of him knew that this had always been the most probable outcome. He was grateful for the time he was granted with her and that Hermione was alive and well, rebuilding a foundation upon which their society could once more flourish.

It was bittersweet to dwell on thoughts of her and despite the pain of knowing she was gone from his life forever, it never failed to bring the whisper of a smile to his face.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her ludicrous, gorgeous, _magnificent_ mane spread out on the pillow, her bright eyes crinkled, her sweet lips stretched thin as she laughed at something he said.

In his dream, she came to see him, splaying herself across his body and resting her chin on his chest, her eyes dark with want as her fingers traced patterns along his skin.

With thoughts and visions of her offering solace and comfort in his every moment, he finally found rest.

Draco hardly paid attention to the passage of time, only aware of his impending court date because of the owls he received from the family solicitor, begging him to cooperate in his defense. He threw every letter away.

However, it was thanks to the persistent and rather annoying man that he knew his trial was scheduled for three months after the fall of Voldemort. With this knowledge in mind, Draco was rather suspicious when a team of Aurors came for him well before he was due to appear in court. A letter arrived a few days before informing him that the trial would be held in a month and although he was hardly engaged with reality, he was cognizant enough to know that it was far too early for him to be summoned.

This was how it ended, he supposed.

There was no doubt that word of his betrayal would have spread through the remaining ranks of those who supported Voldemort. Although the Ministry had been rather effective in rounding up Death Eaters, there were still several who escaped, not counting the witches and wizards that silently financed the cause and were not taken into custody, or the families of those who had been captured. Any number of them would want him dead.

If it wasn’t the followers of darkness who had it out for him, Draco wouldn’t put it past the Ministry to claim an accident and be rid of his body before any investigations could be made. Nevertheless, he stood tall, his hair brushing to his shoulders, a shadow of a beard darkening his face, and followed with his head held high.

Though it didn’t mean much to him now, he was still a Malfoy and that meant carrying himself with pride, facing whatever end that awaited him with a haughty sort of dignity that only generations of breeding and years of education could produce.

He thought of Hermione, as he followed the four strange men who served as his escort. He prayed to whatever deity was listening that she would know of his love for her, that she would recognize that above all else, he was hers and hers alone.

Being a Malfoy also meant he showed little emotion. His skills in Occlumency allowed him to do so easily. Yet, when he crossed the threshold into the booking area of the prison and saw her, no mental wall could hide his surprise.

Hermione looked better than she had since their sixth year when he first fell in love with her. Her skin was brighter, her figure fuller, and her face bore the happiest smile Draco had ever seen. It took his breath away. She practically ran to him, throwing herself into his embrace just as the lead Auror undid the shackles that bound him.

Draco caught her easily, as he always had and would forevermore.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long,” she whispered, her face buried against his shoulder, her lips brushing against his neck.

“You’re sorry… What?” he started. “Why are you here? What’s happening?”

“You’re being released.” Hermione pulled away from him ever so slightly. Her hands tangled in his hair and her nose brushed against his. She hadn’t stopped smiling. “You’ve been exonerated, cleared of all charges.”

His next question was cut off by her lips against his, a kiss conveying more than words could.

Tightening his hands around her thighs, he might have taken her there if it weren’t for an uncomfortable cough that finally broke their embrace. She laughed against his mouth and kissed him one more time before unwinding her legs from where they rested around his waist.

“Come on then, let’s get you out of here, and I’ll explain everything.”

Hermione twined their fingers together, her hand firmly wrapped in his as he was given the few belongings being held, including his wand and the clothing he arrived in. Fortunately, she had the foresight to bring him a change of clothes. The ones he wore on the day he was arrested smelled of blood, sweat, and death.

Though the guards seemed a bit reluctant to acquiesce, all it took was a stern look from his witch and Draco was afforded space to groom himself. She sat in the room with him, not speaking as it would overwhelm him, but simply watching him with love in her eyes and that pretty smile on her face.

If he hadn’t been so anxious to leave that hell hole, he might have easily gotten distracted in staring back at her in return. He still couldn’t believe that she was truly there, that she had come for him. Draco knew she rarely made promises she couldn’t keep and he never doubted that she would fight for him, but he hardly expected that she would succeed. Despite her tenacity and ferocity, the cards had been stacked against him, against them, from the start.

Dumbledore and Snape, the men who admitted him into the Order to begin with, were both long dead. Draco scoffed at the idea of Potter vouching for him; it wasn’t completely out of the question that his former nemesis would do so, especially if Hermione was set on it happening, but the very thought of it was rather ludicrous.

While the years had eroded the lingering petty rivalries between himself and Potter, they never outgrew their dislike for one another. Once the other man found out about Draco and Hermione, all by accident of a poorly coordinated rendezvous, there was even less love lost between them. Draco knew Potter tolerated him, for the sake of Hermione, but he highly doubted that a former Death Eater was the man’s preferred choice of mate for his best friend.

There were many occasions when he held the same conviction. After all the horrible self-centered things he had done, there was no way he deserved a life with the purest, most selfless soul he ever encountered. His eyes met hers in the dingy, murky mirror as he shaved and a tiny voice in the back of his mind wondered whether she was even there at all.

Maybe his attempts at redemption and his silent pleas for salvation had been sufficient in ensuring he spent an afterlife with a replica of her by his side. Draco wouldn’t complain if that was the case. It was preferable to any alternative, aside from actually being with her. 

Regardless of his doubts, it was hard to argue with the way she felt when she tucked herself against him, his arm resting around her shoulders as they walked towards his freedom.

Reality further settled in when they reached the apparition point and she hugged him tightly around the waist, holding him to her as she sent them spinning towards Grimmauld Place. They landed in her room, still wrapped in each others’ embrace, and when she pushed him to the bed and climbed atop him, he knew.

No afterlife version of her could compare to the way Hermione felt pressed against him, the warmth she radiated flooding through his veins as she ran her fingers along every bit of his skin she could reach. Her lips brushing his brow and cheeks, then pillowing against his breathed life into him.

It really was her.

For the first time since they collided with one another, he could give himself to her without the threat of his father, or Voldemort, or the war.

For the first time since he realized that he loved this witch, he could have her, so long as she still wanted him.

Though it was hard to break from her embrace, he didn’t want to proceed further before hearing the explanation she promised. He told her as such, their lips still touching, breaths intermingling as she gazed at him from under hooded lids.

Hermione nodded in acknowledgment before sitting up, still in his lap, and wrapping his hands in hers to hold them against her chest.

“It was chaos after the siege of the Manor…” she began quietly. “They rounded up the remainder of Voldemort’s forces, though you know that.”

Draco untangled his hands to wrap them around her waist, settling on her lower back, his thumbs massaging the muscles there.

“I- I tried to stop them from taking you, but Harry held me back. He said we had to absolve you the proper way, or people would question its legitimacy.”

“He was right,” Draco interjected, his voice rough and low.

“Yes, well, it took far longer than I wanted,” she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “First, both Harry and I had to wait for Kingsley to be named Minister of Magic. It was always going to be him, of course, but waiting for it to happen was torture.”

The ghost of a smirk stretched across his features at her admission of her impatience.

“Once he was sworn in, we presented your case to him… It took surprisingly less convincing than I thought it would, but Harry was rather insistent.”

A single blond brow raised in astonishment.

“I was determined also!” she added, “Though Harry said it was more of a stubborn, demanding, obstinance…” she laughed self-deprecatingly, “He was right. Regardless, with Harry remaining cool-headed for once, we managed to convince Kingsley rather quickly.”

Draco ran his hands along her arms, resisting the temptation to pull her to him. Half of the joy in listening to Hermione was observing her facial expressions and he wasn’t disappointed in her retelling of the events that occurred since his imprisonment. The frustration at not being able to move the institution at her own desired pace was evident in her furrowed brows, as was the pleased surprise in her broad smile at finding an unexpected ally in the new Minister.

“Unfortunately, the rest of the process moved much more slowly. An emergency session of the Wizengamot had to be called, though you can imagine how difficult that was… Between clearing out corrupt members and gathering others who had gone into hiding, it was quite the task.”

“I’ve never known of a challenge you couldn’t overcome,” he offered fondly, his smile growing infinitesimally as he considered all the efforts she made towards his freedom.

She rolled her eyes and swatted his chest, unwilling to accept the compliment. “You give me far too much credit.”

“On the contrary, I spent the majority of our school years giving you far too little credit. I’m just trying to make up for it now.”

Although she was vexed at the pace at which the process moved, the fact that he was only in Azkaban for two months was nothing short of a miracle.

“I split my time between assisting Harry in ensuring the members of the tribunal would be present and ready and strengthening your defense. Both Harry and I offered some of our memories, and he also had those of Dumbledore and Snape. In the end, there was opposition, as we expected, but the vote to free you wasn’t even that close. I came for you as soon as the ruling was announced.”

The rest he knew, of course. What of their future, though? Before he could ask, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him so that there was not a fraction of space between them, as if she intended to never let go. His arms tightened their hold around her, one across her lower back and one pressed against her spine, returning her wordless sentiment. Resting his face in the crook of her neck, Draco luxuriated in the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to be parted from her again.

They might have sat there enveloped in each other’s embrace for hours, but there was more to be said. Drawing away from her slightly, his hand tangled into her curls as he rested his forehead against hers, their eyes locking. “Hermione, love, I–”

“If you’re going to apologize, don’t,” she cut him off softly.

His heart sank. He had intended to apologize, but…

Maybe she had only freed him out of a moral obligation and that was where her attachment to him ended. He deserved as much, after leaving her the way he had.

“How could you steal away in the middle of the night, with only a letter for an explanation!" she chastised. "First, you distracted me with _sex_ , and then you didn’t even have the decency to continue the discussion afterward!”

Draco broke his gaze from hers, shame building in his chest. His face colored as a blush spread across his cheeks.

“You have a lot to make up to me and I expect you’ll be spending years doing so.” She kissed him gently. “You can start by allowing me to finish saying what I tried to tell you that night.” Leaning away, her hands came to his shoulders as her lovely brown eyes burned brightly, fixed on his. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before she continued. “I love you, Draco. I have since I was 17 and I still do now, all these years later. I know you thought there was always an expiration date for our relationship, but you can’t use that excuse any longer. So, if you don’t want me, don’t want this, then you’re actually going to have to say it because I never want to be parted from you again.”

A feeling of pure, unadulterated joy spread through him. He knew of her love. It warmed him on the darkest, loneliest of nights when he lay awake, in the same house as a man who sought her destruction. It offered him the courage he needed to continue in the suicide mission he was assigned. Still, hearing her say it was another experience entirely.

She was right, as usual. There was no longer any room for excuses, not that he was searching for one. The only barriers that remained between them were his own self-loathing and lack of confidence. It was time. 

In the end, it was far easier than he anticipated, the words that he had desperately wanted to profess for so long readily pouring from his lips. 

“I love you, too, Hermione. I’m sorry for... _everything_. I'll spend my life showing you. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.” He sealed his promise with a kiss, his lips insistent and demanding against hers.

“Forever, then,” she responded breathlessly, after extracting herself from his hold. “I heard you that night, by the way. I thought I was dreaming of it, but when you stepped in front of me and shielded me, I knew.”

Draco fell back on the bed, smiling fully for the first time in as long as he could remember at the melodious sounds of her squeals and peals laughter as she sank into the mattress with him.

He rolled her to her back, following closely, and bringing his lips to hers.

There was no better moment than the present to start making good on his promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 💖
> 
> This is my first Dramione fic and I'm really nervous to post it, but after receiving [this prompt](https://twitter.com/crystymre/status/1309620413744336896?s=20) and idea came to mind that just had to be written.
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sweetestsorrows), [Tumblr](https://sweetestsorrows.tumblr.com/), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sweetest_sorrows/).


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